By Leah Greenberg
Three weeks ago I specifically asked Mr. Gonzalez to be around on Sunday May 16th to help me with a delivery. I needed him to help carry up 6 boxes of packing bubbles to my parent's storage studio in our Upper West Side building.
My school is having a science project week and I needed these bubbles for my super-secret project. Last year, the winning project got the winner into Princeton. I mean, it might have had something to do with the fact that that kid was a total dork, but I need to get into an Ivy league school and my grades alone is not going to get me in there.
So, I reminded the doorman again and again, to the point where he would say "Audrey, when is that delivery again" and start laughing in that fat little man sort of way that really annoys me. Plus I don't like the fact that he's sometimes checking out my ass in the mirror. My mother says not to worry, that in the Puerto Rican culture it is considered a compliment or something.
Anyway, so on Sunday, the buzzer rings and it's the delivery guys. They're downstairs. I go downstairs, a little hung over from the night before, so I'm already cranky, and Mr. Gonzalez is not there! I ask the other guy, who is 82 years old (I think he played Blue in Old School but I am not sure) and he says that Hector had to take his daughter to Sunday School.
What the fuck? Sunday school?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment